


Such small hands

by cirque



Category: Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF
Genre: Ancient History, Bechdel Test Pass, Childhood, Friendship, Gen, Loneliness, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Princes & Princesses, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:42:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirque/pseuds/cirque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She thought of Alexander, golden and away from home, and edged closer to her mother's embrace with a hidden smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such small hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fawatson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/gifts).



> To fawatson - thank you for your inspiring prompt, you really encouraged me to delve into Kleopatra's childhood and figure out what an upsetting yet privileged life she must have had. Poor girl, she's actually one of the characters that really struck me the first time I read the book - Alexander is beautiful and intelligent and loved, and he no doubt inherited his parents' skills at keeping secrets - but it made sense to me that Kleopatra inherited those traits too, and she became quite as manipulative as Olympias. After all, she would have spent much more time with their mother than Alexander.
> 
> I decided to include Melissa, and I hope you don't mind her. I really wanted to show Kleopatra's understanding of the world around her, and her compassion, and Melissa seemed like an ideal way to do that.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> _
> 
> Info for readers who don't know the context: Kleopatra was the younger sister of Alexander the Great, and lived much of her life in his shadow. Despite this, she became a queen before he was ever crowned King, and outlived her brother, but is all but forgotten in modern times.
> 
> Olympias is her mother, Philip is her father, this is set in the Macedonian royal city of Pella during the summer in which thirteen-year-old Alexander journeys away from home to study with the great philosopher Aristotle.

Alexander's first summer at Mieza, Kleopatra was ill. She was dizzied with the fever and, after breakfast, curled back into the cool sheets of her bed, her legs tucked up against her belly. She traced a finger over the embroidery on the sheets and awaited her nurse's punishment.

She dosed a little, feeling faint and weak, feeling as though she might fall from the bed if it did not have such ornate bars across the top and side, deep bronze wrought into fancy floral shapes. It was new and still shiny and, though it was not as large and lavish as Alexander's lion bed, it was more expensive. This one had been purchased by their father from a Spartan dealer, who had boasted of its inlaid gems, its golden edging to the flower design. He had wanted to outbest Olympias even at this, and had not flinched at the high price. He had presented it to Kleopatra with a rare smile, and she treasured both gifts.

She paused, hearing footsteps, and braced her small body for the nurse's wrath. Today she was supposed to be practicing linework on the loom, but instead she was in bed. The Spartan woman was more of a warrior, all tensed muscle and ingrown anger. She closed her eyes, prepared for her fate.

"Abed at this hour!"

Kleopatra stirred. That was not the clipped accent of her nurse, or the hushed tones of any of the slaves; the voice was loud and carrying, and surprisingly full of kindness considering Kleopatra's disobedience. She rolled over in the bed, trying not to let her smile show.

"I am unwell, mother," she said, quietly and, after a moment's thought, added a small cough for effect.

Olympias approached the bed, her dress swaying as she moved and fanning welcome waves of cool air against Kleopatra's clammy body. She arranged herself on the edge of the bed, back straight, face unreadable, perfect even as she loomed over her daughter. Not for the first time, Kleopatra envied her easy beauty.

"Let me see," she said, and raised a hand, pushing back Kleopatra's sticky hair to feel at her forehead. "Tch!" She exclaimed, pulling her hand back dramatically and flashing a rare smile.

Kleopatra giggled. Olympias was not often kind with her, especially not lately, but perhaps it was Alexander's absence that gave Olympias the desire to hold a child, any child, in her arms. Kleopatra was more than happy to make of it what she could, and shuffled a little in the bed, looking up at her mother with Philip's eyes.

Olympias did not look away. She moved her face in closer and pressed a quick kiss to Kleopatra's nose, poking the girl playfully in the ribs to tease more giggles from her.

"You shall live," said Olypmias, "Now come – out of bed. If you can manage it, there is a present waiting for you."

Kleopatra stiffened. Gifts were frequent and magnificent in the royal household, but presents from Olympias to her daughter were few and far between. She was curious, but nine summers and winters in her brother's shadow had taught Kleopatra to be wary. Olympias smiled down at her, genuine and open, and twined the girl's red hair through her fingers. Their hair was the same shade down to the hue, Molossian red and deep browns. She thought of Alexander, golden and away from home, and edged closer to her mother's embrace with a hidden smile.

"Mama?" It was a petname that her brother had never been allowed, a saccharine sweetness that had been beaten out of Alexander long ago, but Kleopatra tried it now, her voice young and her face shy, and watched Olympias for signs of reproach.

Olympias smiled, a sure sign for Kleopatra to continue.

Relieved, she giggled again, "Mama, may I have some ginger water?"

Olympias felt her forehead again, judging the fever. Kleopatra was well aware that in any other circumstance she would be dragged out of bed and beaten for laziness, and beaten again for playing up a fever. "Perhaps we can ask the nurse. Later, after you have seen your present."

Kleopatra nodded, and tried not to let disappointment show in her face as Olympias rose from the bed and swept from the room as gracefully as she had entered. "Meet me in the forecourt when you are ready, child," she said, over her shoulder as she neared the doorway.

Kleopatra sat up in the bed, the coverlets pooling around her waist. Though her mother's tone had been warm, her meaning was clear: she had lain in bed long enough.

She slipped from the covers, her clammy bare feet making a sticking noise as she navigated her way across the tiled floor. She straightened her dress, and slipped her feet into a pair of woven slippers. She gathered up a pile of beads from the small table beside the window. They were designed to trail around her neck but she kept them in her hands, worrying at them as she prepared to meet her mother. They were red and golden, royal colours for a royal girl, and yet Kleopatra was certain she would give anything to be the kind of child who could curl into her mother's lap.

The guard outside gave a dip of his head as she passed. Sometimes she nodded back, and she did so now. It was something Alexander would have done.

She passed underneath the stoa, her hands tracing the porphyry veins of the columns. She heard the soft hum of voices and, turning a corner, saw a gathering of slave women in her path. Slaves did not often leave their quarters, and rarely if ever stood around chatting like this, but Kleopatra was tired and the weather was warm, so she only smiled at them as she passed.

"Highness!" One of the slaves beckoned her as she passed. Kleopatra recognised her as a woman who had been with them for many years, a woman who had tended Kleopatra's bumps and bruises in early childhood and who had once snuck her sweet bread at twilight. Kleopatra smiled at her.

"Highness," she continued, "Forgive me – your mother wanted you to come here to meet us."

That was odd, Kleopatra thought. What business could her mother want with slaves – and what kind of present was this? "Kind ladies, I do not understand." She drew near to them, and was pleased to see that she only had to tip her head slightly to meet their eyes. Another few summers and she would be tall enough to feel like something other than a little girl.

Kleopatra heard footsteps and the swishing of skirts, and she felt her hands instinctively tighten around the knotted beads in her hands. She turned around, and conjured a smile lest she be called ungrateful. "Mother."

Olympias drew to a smooth halt and fixed Kleopatra with the kind of smile she usually reserved for Philip. She turned her gaze to the gathered slaves, and Kleopatra began to feel that her gift was merely another move in the game her parents were constantly battling against one another. She wished Alexander were here.

"Show my daughter her present," Olympias ordered, and the slave women parted with shy smiles, revealing a small girl gathered between them. She had dark skin and darker hair, she was skinny but clean, and her dress was pretty spun cotton in Egyptian yellow. She bowed her head courteously as she took shaky steps towards Kleopatra.

"Mother?" She did not understand.

Olympias waved a carefree hand towards the girl. "You are lonely about the house, are you not? And you cannot run with the local children like your brother. This slave girl is from the South; her parents are dead, and she may be too if it were not for you." The little girl shifted, but did not cry. Kleopatra noticed her eyes were red, and suspected she had no more tears left. "You may keep her, if you wish. If not…"

 _That_ was clear enough. Kleopatra almost yelled, but caught herself. Olympias was a master at this game; it would not to do make a novice's mistake. "Thank you mother." She dipped in a curtsey and Olympias recognised her victory and smiled.

"Leave them," she said to the slave women, "Let them become acquainted." She touched Kleopatra's shoulder as she left, no doubt intending to boast to Philip of her ingenious gift. Kleopatra felt momentarily sickened, but then caught herself; this was no time for self-pity – her mother had spared the life of a little girl, a girl who was no doubt afraid and entirely alone in the world. Kleopatra knew that feeling well enough.

She approached the girl, who still would not meet her eyes.

"Hello. I am Kleopatra. Do you speak Macedonian?"

The dark girl shuffled awkwardly and frowned.

Kleopatra switched tactics. "Greek?" She made the transition easily enough; Hellanike had taught her from the nursery tables the same as Alexander.

The girl nodded.

"Tell me your name."

"Melissa." Her voice was accented, but acutely so – Kleopatra could tell she had spent her life surrounded by Hellenes, and wondered what kind of childhood she had growing up in slave's quarters. Perhaps it was not so different to her own. Perhaps her parents loved her, and each other.

"You need not worry now, Melissa. You are in a safe place. I will take care of you."

Melissa looked shocked, her little face twisting into a scowl. "My lady! It is I who must attend to you. It is the way."

This was to be expected; she had had many years of having servitude beaten into her, and reinforced for generations. Kleopatra was one girl – she could not undo that. But she smiled, and held out her hands, draping the beads around Melissa's neck. They fit her well despite her small size – they had been custom made for Kleopatra the previous summer. Melissa touched them, fiddling with the luxuriously heavy jewels, the fine gold chain. Jewellery fit for a princess. She smiled, a true smile, and Kleopatra could tell she would one day be beautiful.

"Perhaps," said Kleopatra, "But it does not _have_ to be the way. Can you use a loom?" The girl nodded. "Good. Would you like to see my latest project? I'm learning a new pattern. Perhaps you could help?"

Melissa nodded shyly. She made to unravel the beads from her neck, but Kleopatra held up a hand.

"No! They are yours now. I have given them to you."

Melissa gasped. "Oh – your highness! They must be expensive."

"Terribly. But my father will buy more. He always does. Now listen, if we are to be friends, you must not call me that. I am Kleopatra, not highness."

Melissa looked affronted, and nervous, and more than a little afraid. "But my lady – Kleopatra…" She added, after a pointed frown. "Kleopatra, I have never had a friend before." Kleopatra did not doubt that – slaves were assistants and pack-carriers and cleaners and scapegoats but never, ever equals.

And Kleopatra was old enough to understand how unjust that was. She thought of Alexander, gallivanting around Mieza as though he had not a care in the world, with his boys and his sophist and his horse and his apples. He had no understanding of the world as it really stood – the world beneath him that Kleopatra occupied, forgotten and unimportant, a lesser tool in her parents' war. Kleopatra took Melissa's hand. They had both seen the world from opposite ends, an unwanted princess and a captured slave girl. The real world was cruel, she knew that, and they were both in the middle of it.

She smiled, at length. "It is ok. I have never had a friend either." Her voice was small, lonely, and the forecourt echoed with it. She could hear her mother laughing, deep within the halls.

Melissa squeezed her hand gently before letting go, and the spell that captured the children broke in a second as they giggled. Kleopatra hurried to show her the loom, chatting all the while, her sickness entirely forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from e. e. cummings' "somewhere i have never traveled".


End file.
